


Parents are always the last to know

by HetepHeres



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, Gen, Humor, One Shot, Romance, Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 10:55:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HetepHeres/pseuds/HetepHeres
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know the saying : "parents are always the last to know". And in Lord and Lady Grantham's case, it's particularly true. They are so unperceptive and unobservant that they are always unaware of what's going on under their own roof, or within their own family. I'll try to write a series of ficlets about that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. July 1914

**July 1914**

A baby.  
A surprise.  
A _beautiful_ surprise.  
A _wonderful_ surprise.

And possibly a new solution to their problem. A possibility that…  
Well, the odds were one in two.

But a big surprise anyway.

Still… there were old. Too old for that anyway, he believed. And yet…

He thought that Cora… well, he did NOT want to think about... those… _things_. He was a man, and there were just some subjects he wasn’t comfortable with.

His child wasn’t born yet, and he already had grey hair, for God’s sake! How old will they be by the time they’ll have to find a spouse for their youngest? Will then people mistake them for his grandparents?

Lord Grantham looked at his wife, and found she was radiant. Probably the most beautiful woman on earth, he thought.

And they were going to become parents once more. And who knows, this time… possibly… a son? An _heir_? Well, he did already think that back then – all these years ago – about Sybil, he did not want to set his hopes too high. And now nearly twenty years later he wouldn’t trade any of his three daughters for an unknown and faceless son.

Anyway, even if it meant one more daughter to marry off, this baby would be a great happiness.

“We can consider ourselves lucky that our child won’t have a niece or nephew older than himself…” he told his wife in a chuckle.

And then, Cora suddenly remembered the “Turkish incident”.

_Yes darling, very lucky, indeed._


	2. Early 1919 - The "morning after"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Branson and Sybil's failed elopement, Lord Grantham unknowingly rubs salt into the wound

“Good morning, Branson” Lord Grantham told him in an even, every-day-like tone.

Why did they all have to wish him a _good_ morning, today? This morning was certainly anything but good. It could have been. It _should_ have been. He should be getting married right now, maybe even already _be_ married, if they had had an early start…

But no. Her sisters had to come and get her. Snatching his dream from him, when he finally had it at his fingertips. The previous night had been a fall from brushing the sky to sinking deep down in a grave of loneliness and dashed hopes.

A very _bad_ morning indeed.

But maybe they were right? Maybe Sybil couldn’t be completely happy with the bitter thought of having left like a thief? She would rather be the kind to prefer standing for her ground and fighting for her cause, sooner than running off as if she did something bad…

And choosing him was _not_ bad. So of course, she’ll want to make her family understand that. He was much calmer now than last night. He was beginning to see the whole thing trough her eyes. She did not want to fall out with her parents: there was nothing wrong in that either. Yes, he could understand that. But still… They could be _married_ by now, for god’s sake! They could be on their way to their new life!

Today should have been the day of his wedding. Finally! But no. Instead of that, he was back to square one. Downton Abbey. Driving Lord Grantham here and there. Hiding his deep feelings for his daughter.

“Good morning, Your Lordship” he answered through gritted teeth.

The man who should be by now his father-in-law got into the car and Branson then shut the door closed, his knuckles white from clenching the handle.

* * *

 Branson was less than talkative today, Lord Grantham thought. Plus, he was looking drawn, with those hollow and bleary eyes. And quite slumpy. Yes, Branson did look a bit tired, today. Short night, maybe?

Well, after all, Lord Grantham himself had been a twenty-something, too… That much he could relate to. But if it was because of a woman, the lad would better keep it very low key: Lord Grantham wouldn’t want any of Downton Abbey’s staff members to become a topic of local idle gossip. The House’s reputation was at stake, there.

As long as Branson was being discreet about his affairs, Lord Grantham would certainly not chastise him. Unless it interfered with his duty. And, well, right now, Branson did not seem to be on top capacity: maybe his employer should remind him he had to keep up with Downton Abbey’s standards, and to live up to the family’s expectations.

Yes, Lord Grantham had been young. He remembered what that period of his life was like… And then he got married, and settled down.

He couldn’t ask the lad to live like a monk. As long as his chauffeur wasn’t tomcatting around or didn’t tarnish some village girl’s reputation, Robert would turn a blind eye on his driver’s amorous life. And if one day Branson became serious about a woman, Lord Grantham – and probably even more Carson – would see to making sure that the boy did _the right thing_. And _more so_ if he was _not_ serious about the girl and did not plan to get married.

_Wedding bells…_

This brought another thought to Robert’s mind. _Matthew_. And Lavinia. And the posterity they would now be able to give to the Grantham lineage.

_Wedding bells…_

— Isn’t that thrilling, Branson ? We are going to have a wedding in the family. We haven’t had one in… well… more than two decades. Nearly three.

The driver’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, while his grip on it tightened.

Lord Grantham didn’t seem to notice the tension in his chauffeur, and went on:

— Do you plan to ever get married, Branson?

This time, the car swerved.


	3. Summer 1918 - Part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Grantham faces a very unexpected request from one of the recovering patients

 “Major Harrington, Your Lordship” Carson announced before stepping aside to let the man enter the room.

Lord Grantham was alone in his library, or rather in what was left of it, courtesy of Isobel and Sybil’s idea to transform the castle into a convalescent home.

This war was really getting far too long, and those sacrifices granted for the war effort were eating away at Lord Grantham’s patience. He agreed to the ultimate sacrifice, whittle down his own private library to give even more space to the recovering officers, but all this was seriously grating on his nerves.

Well, everyone had to suffer for one’s country, after all…

Lord Grantham lifted his gaze from his newspaper and set it aside when his visitor entered.

How old could he have been? It was hard to tell, what with his strained features and still limping figure. He looked like a thirty-something, though war and wounds probably added five to ten years to his appearance. Twenty-five to thirty years-old, then? The same age as Matthew, Robert thought. After a few more weeks of recovery and healing, he’ll walk normally again and will look much less tired, appearing like the young man he certainly still was.

Major Harrington walked a few steps into the library but stopped at a discreet distance from his host. Here, and despite his limp, he stood as straight and upright as if standing at attention before the king himself. Not only the man was not wearing a dressing gown over his uniform, but said uniform looked impeccable and immaculate, without a hint of a wrinkle. That was a nice change from what could be seen around there these days, with patients dragging themselves around in varying states of dress – or even relative _un_ dress. It didn’t come to Lord Grantham’s mind that those men hadn’t valets nor batmen here to dress them or take care of their clothes.

“Major Harrington, is that right?”

“It is, Milord”, the officer confirmed.

“My butler told me you requested to see me?”

At this, the man seemed to hold himself even straighter, if possible.

“I did, Milord” the officer answered.

Lord Grantham noticed several military decorations pinned on his chest, ribbons hanging and medals shinning in the daylight coming from the window. Obviously, the man took great care to look his best.

“Well, go ahead Major,” Robert said with a small smile of encouragement, “I’m all hears.”

Major Harrington visibly gulped and then drew in a breath. Still wondering what the officer would have to tell him, Robert took another look at his attire, and noticed than the man was wearing white gloves. _White gloves?_

“Lord Grantham, I have the great honour to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

 

_(To be continued...)_


	4. Summer 1918 - Part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Which daughter...?

** Summer 1918 – Part two **

 

_“I have the great honour to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”_

That sentence echoed several times in Robert’s otherwise momentarily blank mind, without him managing to fully grasp its meaning. He was not sure he had truly understood what Major Harrington just asked him. He heard the words, but didn’t process them immediately. And then…

 _WHAT?_   was the first vaguely coherent thing that came to his mind.

Tell me about _unexpected_ , Lord Grantham thought. And first and foremost, _who’s that man?_

Seemingly noticing his host’s rather flabbergasted look, Major Harrington spoke again, in a slightly more faltering voice and manner than he did previously:

“I’m well aware, Milord, that requesting an interview without having been previously properly introduced to you, and making a marriage proposal straight away is not the done thing.”

Hearing the word _marriage_ a second time seemed to help Robert snap out of stupor. He blinked and looked intently at Major Harrington, though did not say a word and let him go on.

“Normally”, the young man said, “I would have come here today to ask for your permission to court her, properly and chaperoned. However, war times can hardly be called _normal_ times. I’ll be sent back to the front next month, once my leg is healed, and I may very well never come back from there.”

Lord Grantham seemed to falter a bit, while Major Harrington straightened again despite these ominous words.

“I’m very much aware,” he went on, “that these are two excellent reasons for you not to grant me what I’m asking for, yet I also know that, should my life end in a muddy trench in Picardy or in a field hospital anywhere, my greatest regret would be to leave this life without having dared to propose and ask for the hand of the woman who has captured my heart. And if God lets me live, then I would have something to hold on to: either the prospect of marrying the woman my heart has attached itself to once this war is finally over, or the waiting for her answer. In both cases, it will help strengthen my courage and endurance in the trenches.”

During this speech, Lord Grantham seemed to have recovered from his initial shock. Yet the surprise remained. Though, he thought, the young man’s train of thought was quite understandable, from the point of view he had just exposed. Until then, Robert had thought that the war had been postponing everything about courting, seasons, engagements or search for a husband.

And while Mary had finally been on good tracks towards marriage in the year previous to the war, he had thought this war had just momentarily interrupting a way of life that would resume once the conflict is over. Yet, he now saw that war had merely narrowed the choices, what with Matthew being now physically out of question (and engaged to someone else), all those young men killed in action, and Mary not seeming to be that much into this Sir Richard she nevertheless kept seeing.

At least now Robert thought he knew why so little eagerness from her…

“Pardon my surprise, Major” he said, “but I just hadn’t noticed that Lady Mary had form a sort of attachment with one of our… guests.”

Harrington seemed momentarily at a loss.

“Err– Sir… Milord… No! I wasn’t talking about Lady Mary’s hand, Milord!” said a nearly horrified Major Harrington. “I mean… I certainly mean no disrespect to Lady Mary, but it’s just… I’ve hardly ever met her, and never talked to her.”

 _Oh!_ Lord Grantham thought. _Oh…_

“Major,” he then told him gently, “Lady Sybil is still very young even though she’s already been presented. She’s practically still a child, and she is the youngest of my three daughters. You’ll understand that my duty as a father is first and foremost to–”

“Milord…” Harrington dared to interrupt.

Robert stared at him with a surprised look.

“Milord,” the major repeated, “even though I immensely admire and respect Nurse Crawl–” he stopped himself, “Lady Sybil’s hard work, involvement and dedication, I’m not… I mean she’s not…”

Again he stopped, not knowing how to get himself out of the hole he seemed to be digging.

But Robert got the main idea: _not Sybil either, then,_ he reflected. _So who does he–?_

“Lord Grantham, I have the greatest honour to ask for your permission to court, and eventually propose to Lady Edith.”

  
 _(To be continued...)_


	5. Summer 1918 - Part three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert's answer

Once astonishment cleared up, Lord Grantham quickly set aside the very ungenerous thought of _unhoped-for_ to settle on _unexpected_.

But all this was entirely too sudden. Too hurried.

“Still,” Robert finally said, “I wasn’t aware my daughter had got that close to…” he didn’t finish his sentence. Of course he hadn’t been aware: until five minutes ago he wasn’t aware of the man’s very existence at all. After a few days, he had lost track of the exact number of war casualties his castle now sheltered, let alone of their identities!

Edith, on the other hand, had seemed to make a point of caring for their well-being and Robert let her do: better offer her that sop rather than have her go to a nursing school too!

But now it had become a totally different matter…

“I wasn’t aware you and Lady Edith had developed that sort of attachment”.

In truth, he hadn’t thought any young man would fancy Edith, especially as long as a single Mary was still in the picture. Mary would evidently be the first of his daughters to get married, for so many obvious reasons. Well, obvious to him, to Cora, to Carson, to nearly everyone including this Sir Richard, but apparently not to Major Harrington.

“Erm… Milord…” the aspiring son-in-law-to-be tentatively answered, “in fact I… I haven’t exactly voiced the… err… nature nor extend of my affection to Lady Edith, yet.” He paused.

Lord Grantham looked at him with… was it a hint of _relief_?

“I mean… considering the special circumstances… that war… well, I knew I couldn’t court her _normally_ … and according to all the reasons I have just exposed to you, I felt I _had_ to make this proposal. But I couldn’t offer her my hand straight away, so suddenly. Nor could I court her under your roof without you knowing it. Hence my approach here, today.”

 _Oh…_ So Edith didn’t know yet that this man had a thing for her… Of course she didn’t know, otherwise she would have been on and on about it for days or weeks, like when sir Anthony had invited her to a concert or to a car ride, four or five years ago…

“I know I’m not much right now, a limping and wounded soldier. I know my family is not as high-ranked as the Granthams’. And I know I’m not even the heir to my father but just a younger son. But I promise I’ll make something of myself, may God let me outlive this war. I swear I earned my good ranking in Cambridge through serious hard work and nothing else. Once this war is over, I will set up in a good and respectable situation, and my father had the good foresight to save some part of the land he inherited from his mother for us, the younger siblings.”

Hmm, Robert thought, that was all but a middle-class life that Major Harrington was offering to his daughter. Well, _upper_ -middle-class, he corrected. Still, not as high-ranked as what she had grown up into…

On the other hand, a voice in his head told him that they probably would not encounter that many suitors for Edith, so it would be wise not to dismiss him just yet. But another insidious voice was also murmuring that he might well loose the one child who would have taken care of Cora and himself in their old age.

He immediately dismissed that cynical and selfish idea.

“Major,” he finally told him, “I see your point of view very well, and your request, although quite surprising at first, seems fair enough and understandable. Yet, I’m now asking you to understand _my_ point of view, as a father, as well as Edith’s situation: as you said – and believe me I hate to state that possibility – you will leave next month and might very well never come back from France. May that happen, and may Edith involve her heart with yours, she would see her hopes and plans for a foreseeable future cruelly crushed and be terribly affected by that loss. She… It’s my duty to protect my daughters, their futures as well as their hearts.”

“I understand, Sir,” assured Major Harrington who had blanched a bit.

“I’m happy you do, Major. Here is my suggestion: I’m asking you not to openly voice your feelings to Lady Edith for now and until the end of your convalescence. Then, you’ll be sent back to active duty and to the front. Please remember that this war won’t last long from now on, everybody says we will soon see the end of it, thank God! By then, and if your feelings are unchanged, you can ask Edith if she allows you to court her. What do you think?”

“Well, Milord, I admit it is not exactly the answer I had been hoping for, but I understand your point of view and respect the concern you have as father. I also think that you have given me another very good reason to hold on to life when I’m back in the trenches, Sir. My feelings and my heart won’t change, and if this war spares my life, I’ll come back to Downton, Lord Grantham.”

“I’m glad you’re not resenting my temporary refusal as well as my reservations,” Lord Grantham told him. The more the young man talked, the more he liked his respect and manners. But this proposal and this very idea of marrying Edith was bordering madness, and Robert hoped it was a passing fancy from a boy in dire need of some gentle attention from a young and caring woman.

 

Yet a few weeks later, seeing Edith walk in the garden with this disfigured Canadian officer claiming to be Patrick and spend nearly all of her free time with him, Lord Grantham started to regret having dismissed Major Harrington’s request, and he began praying that the man went through the remaining weeks of this war alive and unscathed, nearly hoping to see him show up in Downton again.

And by the time Robert finally grudgingly accepted to give his blessing to Edith’s engagement to old and crippled Sir Anthony Strallan, he clearly regretted never having heard from Major Harrington ever again.


End file.
